


unholy bones

by whiskeycherrypie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Episode Related, Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Fuck Or Die, Happy Ending, M/M, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Sex Magic, Sexual Inexperience, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 16:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeycherrypie/pseuds/whiskeycherrypie
Summary: “Why would he mind that? No offense, Cas, but everything we've seen angels do doesn't really fall in line with what we think of as Christian morality, you know.”Sam, Dean and co. find a solution to the Michael problem. Spoilers for 14x12 - Prophet and Loss.





	unholy bones

**Author's Note:**

> 14x11 and 14x12 were fucking wild rides. I managed to combine my two fave things - episode codas and fuck-or-dies (or close enough). 
> 
> The solutions to the problems here are inspired by:  
> \- Crowley rebuilding Nick as a vessel for Lucifer and adding nifty control spells  
> \- Soulless!Sam's attempt to reject his soul via fratricide
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

Dean's pretty sure that Sam has been at it since at least five in the morning. Books are covering every inch of the library tables, Sam's laptop among them. If Dean looked, he would find at least twenty tabs open. Lore sites, dictionaries, whatever.

 

“Jack and Cas went to check out a library in Denver for me, I think there might be something there. Old world stuff, you know, middle ages. There's a traveling collection.”

 

It's only when Sam volunteers this bit of information that Dean shakes himself, realizing he's been standing in the middle of the library silently, probably staring a hole into Sam's head.

 

“Okay.”

 

“They might meet up with Rowena on the way back.”

 

Right. “Cas said she got nothing.”

 

Sam straightens in his chair, giving Dean his full attention. His eyes are red-rimmed. They'd only gotten back to the bunker after midnight and it seems Sam's running on his customary three hours of sleep again. “There was nothing in the Book of the Damned, that's all. We might have to get a little creative.”

 

Dean's not going to point out that he had a creative solution up and ready. Handed to him by Death, of all people, who tends to have a better insight into things than any of them.

 

He says nothing, pulling out a chair and sitting down just to force himself to move, to stop standing there like a loon. He feels like one, honestly. He was going to do the right thing. Save the world. And then Sammy went and pulled the little brother act on him.

 

“You're a pain in my ass, you know.”

 

It comes out a bit more harshly than he intended and he almost balks, the memory of Sam's desperate tears still a little too fresh. But Sam just smiles, tired but genuine.

 

“Yeah, I sure hope so.”

 

Something changed between them in the past couple of days. Dean knows he probably started it, with that ill-advised goodbye hug that instantly set all of Sam's warning bells ringing.

 

It's laughable now to think he could get away with something like that.

 

Because they don't do hugs. Affection between them is swearing at each other and rough slaps on the shoulders. It's arguing about movies and music and food. It's only in those moments when the going gets tough, too tough to pretend, that they get clingy.

 

The pounding in his head makes him dizzy so Dean sticks firmly to this train of thought and doesn't let go. He wonders, just for the sake of wondering, what he would do if Sam started randomly hugging him as a goodbye. Or as a hello.

 

He would think it was weird as shit, that's what.

 

But it might be kinda nice, too.

 

“Dean, you with me?”

 

He shakes his head to clear it.

 

“Not really, Sammy, sorry. It's hard to focus. Hate to break it to you, but you're on a deadline.”

 

He can see that cutting Sam in a way that Dean calling him a pain in the ass never could.

 

“I will find a way, Dean,” Sam says, the conviction glittering in his eyes. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, it's more of a group effort. Cas and Jack bring back stolen parchment scrolls that threaten to fall apart, but have a great deal to say about angelic possession and, specifically, what makes humans unsuitable for it.

 

That still leaves them with the problem of where to stick Michael once he's out of Dean, but that's where Rowena comes in with some heavy duty spell work, essentially preparing a dummy, a vessel created out of a dead body, animated with the worst of the worst from the Book of the Damned.

 

The whole thing is messy and nasty and way too black magic for any of them, save perhaps Rowena, to feel good about it. But they trudge on, gathered in the library. Dean pushes past the feeling that this is all unnecessary – would be unnecessary if he could just stick to his plan – and works just hard as the rest of them.

 

“This is...” Cas says, staring at one of the scrolls. “I have found something that would scar a vessel enough to force Michael out, but it's...”

 

He looks up at them, eyes lingering on Jack, then briefly flicking to Rowena.

 

“Maybe I should talk to Dean alone about it.”

 

Right. Scarring the vessel. That doesn't sound unpleasant at all.

 

It takes some cajoling but in the end Jack is shipped off to the kitchen and Rowena disappears somewhere, visibly in a snit.

 

Sam, predictably, doesn't budge. He sits back, arms crossed, near well glaring at Cas as if to dare him to suggest he leave as well.

 

Cas doesn't try to send him away. “Sam, this would... probably concern you too. Unless you would like to call Mary in instead.”

 

Dean watches Sam's glare turn into a look of confusion. Mom and Bobby are trying their luck with some witches on the east coast. “Cas, what did you find?”

 

Cas hesitates, not meeting either of their eyes. “Do you remember what you did as your last attempt to prevent Dean from returning your soul?”

 

Sam flinches, shock and something like betrayal plainly visible on his face. “What- I tried, I tried to kill Bobby, because it would... _scar_ me too much for my soul to bear it. So that's your solution? Dean has to kill me? Or _mom_?”

 

“Whoa, I'm not-” The protest barely passes Dean's lips. No. It's not anywhere near an option to consider, the whole idea was that they _all_ make it through this, dammit, the last thing he's going to do is switch places with Sam.

 

“No,” Cas cuts in. “No, this is different. Michael is an archangel. Don't forget he killed his own brother, more than once. To make Dean truly uninhabitable to him, he would have to commit an act that is far more alien and repulsive to an angel than killing is.”

 

Dean can see Sam's hands are curled into fists underneath the table.

 

“So what is it?”

 

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, face tight with worry.

 

“According to this scroll, the spell that would taint the vessel calls for incest. Dean would have to commit an act of incest.”

 

The pounding in Dean's head stops for terrifying five seconds of utter silence and then starts again, with enough force to double him over. He misses what Sam says and Cas replies, fingers pressed into his own temples until he can get a grip. Then, he laughs. “Oh, Michael doesn't like the sound of that.”

 

“That's good,” Cas says flatly. “He knows it will work.”

 

“Why would he...” Sam sounds beyond baffled and Dean blinks at him through the involuntary tears that the pounding is bringing on. “Why would he mind that? No offense, Cas, but everything we've seen angels do doesn't really fall in line with what we think of as Christian morality, you know.”

 

Dean wants to laugh. Yes, let's turn this into a theological issue, glossing over the reality of Cas seriously suggesting he and Sam-

 

“Exactly how much incest are we talking about here, Cas?”

 

And oh boy, those are not words he has ever imagined himself uttering.

 

Cas shrugs, perusing the scroll. “It doesn't quite say. I would assume penetration. Climax. The rest of the spell is simple. If the first attempt wouldn't be sufficient, you could try again.”

 

Sam finally looks back at him, like it all only just clicked for him, the fog of research lifting. They stare at each other. Dean is treated to the real time play of thoughts in Sam's head, visible as they are in his eyes and his expression. There's a blush, at one point, before Sam molds himself into fierce determination.

 

So, yeah.

 

Looks like Dean won't be trapping himself forever on the ocean floor. But he will be sleeping with his brother.

 

* * *

 

“You know what bothers me?”

 

They're undressing in the storage room adjacent to the dungeon where Cas and Rowena are finishing setting up the circle of holy oil. It's large; it has to fit the box, which sits there propped open, the not-dead not-alive dummy shackled inside it and covered with a sheet, and a bare mattress dragged in from one of the spare bedrooms.

 

“Do tell,” Sam mutters, undoing his belt.

 

“I knew the second Cas explained it that we would go through with this. I knew you would decide it's a price you're willing to pay and that you would convince me. That I would let myself be convinced.”

 

Sam is carefully not looking at him, pulling off his socks instead with more stiff-fingered care than Dean has ever seen him do. “What are you trying to say?”

 

“Where does it end, Sam? That's what I'm saying. Can't die to save the world, gotta... look, I'm not blaming you. Don't think that. This is on both of us.”

 

“Do the math, Dean,” Sam tells him, down to his boxers now. He's always looked even more stupidly tall when he was naked and this isn't the exception. “It's just a spell. No one dies. We don't have to drag anyone else in to clean up our mess. I'm calling this a win, if it works.”

 

Dean kicks off his jeans, which leaves him in a pair of boxers nearly identical to Sam's and isn't that absurd. They haven't been exclusively on the road for years now and they still share clothes like they're living out of one duffel bag.

 

“So am I. And I'm calling _that_ a problem.”

 

“You're bothered that you're _not_ bothered, is that it?”

 

Dean's opening his mouth to retort, clinging to the argument. It's better than the pounding in his head and it's better than thinking about what comes next.

 

“We are ready,” Rowena calls out. They avoid looking at each other as they step over the oil circle.

 

“Here,” Rowena hands them a piece of paper with short incantation on it. “I will now light the holy oil and begin the spell. Then it's up to you to... fulfill the requirement and once you do, you will speak the rest of the incantation. Michael will be expelled and I will snare him in the vessel.

 

Cas hands Sam a phone. “We will give you privacy but you must call before you speak the incantation, we can't risk Michael being free for too long.”

 

 _They're more bothered than we are,_ Dean thinks. Even Cas, who was the one who suggested it in the first place. Even Rowena Fifth-Base MacLeod. Cas won't meet their eyes and Rowena isn't leering the way he would expect her to with him and Sam nearly naked.

 

“Got it,” Sam nods, dropping the phone to the edge of the mattress. Rowena lights a match and the holy oil around them flares high, sealing him and Sam and not-dead not-alive dude inside it. The holy fire feels hotter to Dean that it does when he's archangel-free and he has a brief moment of claustrophobic panic, until Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. Rowena finished the incantation without him even noticing and now she and Cas are closing the door behind them.

 

Show time.

 

They have lube; it's Dean's. Sam didn't volunteer his own stash and Dean just hopes he actually _has_ a stash. That he's not even more monk-y than Dean sometimes worries. He has to bite down a bubble of hysterical laughter. If Sam had a dry spell, Dean's about to break it.

 

“You okay?”

 

In lieu of reply, Dean goes down on all fours, spreading his knees for balance (and access but he's not thinking about that right now), grabbing the bottle of lube and handing it vaguely to Sam's direction without looking at him. “Come on. Chop chop.”

 

He hears Sam sigh and frustration ripples through him. This is gonna be an ordeal, not even because of the fucking, but because of all the brooding and arguing they're going to do.

 

“Dean...”

 

Yeah, exactly like that.

 

Sam's grabbing his shoulder, trying to turn him around and Dean goes with it before it turns into a full blown scuffle and one of them gets singed. On his back, he's treated to the sight of Sammy kneeling above him, mop of hair framing his extraordinarily worried face.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“Dean, let's do this with some, I don't... something.”

 

“You cleared that up for me real well, champ. You heard Cas. Penetration. So grab the lube and get penetrating.”

 

Sam just shakes his head, face scrunched up in annoyance, before leaning down and- whoa. Okay. Kissing Dean on the mouth.

 

Was this a requirement? Are they sure? Sam's hair is tickling his temples and his lips are pretty smooth, for a dude, Dean supposes, and he presses in, he tastes like coffee. And Sam.

 

Dean's just gonna indulge him for a second. It can't hurt and honestly, it's been a while, and making out _is_ a nice thing to do. Then Sam pulls back and Dean looks at him, unguarded. He's a little flushed and he nods, almost to himself. “Okay.”

 

As quickly as he fell on Dean he sits back and grabs Dean's boxers unceremoniously, pulling them down. He gets the lube and Dean makes a move to turn into his stomach again. Sam stops him with a hand on his hip, fingers gripping tight enough to hurt.

 

“Let's just... like this, okay.”

 

Not really okay, not for Dean who would prefer to turn around and close his eyes and get this over with, but it's not worth the fight. Sam's looking almost frantic, like there's a whole lot of that he's not sharing with Dean, some kind of a plan, a check-list maybe.

 

A little perversely, Dean decides to hand over the reins. Sam wanted this. Sam didn't want Dean at the bottom of the ocean, didn't want him gone, so Sam's the one who does the work here with this fucked up plan. Why the hell not?

 

Sam pours some lube into his palm and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin when he wraps his hand around Dean's cock instead of going for his ass.

 

“Sammy, what the hell?”

 

Breathing audibly, Sam has his eyes glued to Dean's dick, spreading the lube around, jacking him. It's a little awkward with how soft Dean is. “I think you need to enjoy it.”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows at that. Sam's red in the face.

 

“Okay...” he drawls.

 

Shaking his head with a huff, Sam keeps working on him. Dean's starting to feel some results there, the lube is nicely warmed up on his skin and Sam's palm is large, his grip just tight enough for Dean to appreciate.

 

“Dean, no offense, I don't mean you need to enjoy it so your feelings don't get hurt, I mean it might be important for the spell.”

 

It's like someone is trying to subtly fracture his mind in half. It's like one half of his being is focused on doing what he always does, debating Sam about a case, and the other half is decidedly chubbing up under not-terrible beginnings of a handjob. Except both these things are happening at once, and it's Sam's hand working him up to it.

 

Sam goes on. “You're supposed to _sully_ yourself with incest. It will be a clearer shot if you, you know, participate more instead of just taking it.”

 

“Well, Sammy, this kind of dirty talk isn't exactly going to get me there, trust me.” He pauses. “Hey, you don't mean I should... do you, right? Because I draw the line there, Sammy. I'm the one getting _sullied_ , you have to fuck me.”

 

“You draw the line there,” Sam mutters, wiping sweat from his forehead with his dry hand. “Right. But no. I think I should... do that, yeah, but you need to come too.”

 

And then, without as much as by your leave, Sam lets go of Dean's hardening cock and pushes his slick index finger beneath Dean's balls, rubbing at his crack.

 

It's a bit abrupt but it doesn't feel bad, or at least it wouldn't in other circumstances. Dean's had some adventurous blowjobs in his life and, well, some girls had wandering hands when he fucked them so this part isn't exactly new.

 

Then Sam pushes his finger in and Dean instantly changes his mind. This is pretty bad. He tenses up, whatever erection Sam managed to work up disappearing at the odd, open feeling in his asshole.

 

“Relax,” Sam tells him, reaching for his cock with his other hand. Dean hisses; the lube has dried up a bit and it's all tacky.

 

He grabs the bottle and drizzles more over himself, slapping Sam's hand away. “I'm gonna take care of this, you keep going.”

 

Jacking himself off helps. Eyes closed, hand around his dick, he can sort of talk himself into the idea that the finger in his ass is good and kinky instead of just weird and invasive.

 

And it's not like it really hurts, Sam's definitely being careful, and Dean absurdly has to fight against a smile.

 

“Dean...” Dean's eyes snap open. Sam sounds strained. “Have you actually done this before?”

 

That question stops Dean cold. How does Sam _not_ know the answer? “Have I- of course I haven't, Sammy, I think I'm usually pretty clear about what team I play for, aren't I?”

 

“Oh Jesus,” Sam mutters. “And not with girls? With toys?”

 

“No. I... there was some, you know, groping in the heat of the moment, but nothing like this.”

 

Sam carefully withdraws his finger and silently pulls his own boxers down his thighs.

 

And- Ah. Okay. Sam looks half hard, which is interesting twist in itself, but more importantly he's just, he's big. With effort, Dean drags his eyes back up to Sam's face, finding him looking entirely stricken and honestly? That just won't do.

 

“Sam,” Dean tells him firmly. “The alternative here is an eternity in a box. Come on. We can do this. _I_ can do this.”

 

It seems like the right thing to say. Sam nods, that determined clench of his jaw coming back and he basically drowns Dean's crack with lube.

 

He's sweating by the time Sam works up to two fingers. Around them, the fire is blazing with undiminished intensity. It's also helping to keep Michael somewhat quiet, which Dean is grateful for. He's still hard, slowly stroking himself, legs spread around Sam's knees.

 

“Does this feel alright? Any better?” Sam asks, both fingers thrust in up to the knuckle, his palm up and basically craddling Dean's balls. Dean shrugs. There's maybe some extra pressure, an interesting tingle forming at the base of his spine.

 

“It's fine. I think we should try now.”

 

Mercifully, Sam doesn't argue. He pulls his fingers out and Dean squirms at the hot, empty feeling he left behind, the strange wetness from so much lube slipping over his skin. Sam takes a hold of his dick and gives it a couple more pumps.

 

Dean had an inkling about this. There was a lot of careless nudity in their youth, rushed check outs, shared bathrooms, shared beds even. Sam hit a growth spurt and it was pretty obvious. But Dean just... he just didn't _care,_ dammit. Now the sight of Sam taking himself in hand is doing things to Dean that Sam's halting attempts to get him all hot and bothered with his fingers just didn't.

 

He lets it happen. He's _supposed_ to enjoy this. He's supposed to let this _sin_ sink into his bones so deep it burns Michael out.

 

“You sure you don't want me on my knees?” he asks Sam quietly and watches him squeeze around himself in shock, wide eyes snapping to Dean's face.

 

“No. No, I...” He's all shaky and Dean actually likes that. “Let's try like this, okay? And if it doesn't...”

 

“Yeah, alright. Come here.”

 

It takes some figuring out. Sam holds himself above Dean on one arm, knees sunk into the thin mattress, while Dean hitches his legs up uncomfortably high and wide and it's not the best, but then Sam is guiding his cock between Dean's cheeks, slipping through lube until he hits the mark and starts pushing in.

 

The pounding in his head is now fully replaced by a mantra of _relax relax relax_ and _fuck Sammy, Sammy._ And it's fine, really. Sam keeps pushing forward but then withdrawing too soon when he feels the resistance, and Dean needs to tell him to go harder, otherwise it won't work.

 

On impulse, he takes Sam's face between both hands, pushing the sweat soaked tendrils of his hair away from his face, kissing him. _Kissing him,_ again, like when they started, except this time it's getting more sloppy, more _real._ Because no matter what, no matter how awkward the technicalities are, Dean can tell that they both are getting into it.

 

“Come on, Sammy,” he says against Sam's lips, letting one of his hands wander down Sam's back, urging him on to push in. “Come on.”

 

Sam does. Dean instinctively tries to tense up again but he can't, because Sam is in. Just the head, Dean suspects, odd and intruding, but he's in and that's half the battle won.

 

Dean squeezes his knees around Sam's waist and wraps his arm around his neck, lips aimlessly pecking at Sam's cheek, his jaw. “Keep going. 'S good, just like that.”

 

It doesn't feel like Sam's fingers did. Dean doesn't really get it, why he didn't like the fingering but feels like he could be persuaded to like _this._ Objectively, it's more painful, _more_ everything _,_ and yet for some reason it's so much better.

 

“It's good,” he repeats a bit more loudly and Sam finally looks at him, cheeks all red. “Better than the fingers, come on. Move.”

 

“Okay,” Sam breathes, then kisses him. It's barely more than a press of lips because it seems like all of Sam's attention is going below the belt, where he's still carefully pushing forward, giving little thrusts, back and forth, always going a bit deeper when he does.

 

Like an after-thought, Dean works to get his arm between them and touch himself. He's still hard, leaking a little and it feels good, his own precome wetting the lube again, making everything nice and slippery. And hot. It's not just the fire, it's the two of them, skin on skin, the strain of Sam's body held carefully above him, Dean's own stress and pounding heart.

 

Sam looks down between them, eyes trained on Dean's cock. Dean looks too and it almost takes his breath away, his fist, all crammed between their bellies, the reddening head of his cock peeking in between on every down stroke and beyond that, Sam's hips flush between Dean's thighs.

 

“Shit, Sammy.”

 

Sam laughs, breathless and disbelieving. He tucks his face into Dean's neck and snaps his hips forward. “We're gonna make it happen, Dean,” he says hotly against Dean's skin. “We're gonna do it, we're gonna save you.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean urges him on, shivering a little at the heat in Sam's words. Fucked up, the both of them. “You like that, Sammy? Saving the world with your cock?”

 

“Ah-” Sam barks out a shocked laugh, fucking in with way more force than before. Dean hisses but his cock jumps in his hand, eager for more of that. “Shut up, Dean, oh god.”

 

“Don't hold back,” Dean tells him, free hand winding itself in Sam's hair. Finally he sees a reason for the length. It feels good between his fingers and he loves the resistance when he tugs, turning Sam's head so that he can see his face, can lean in for a messy kiss.

 

“Are you gonna come? Can you come like this?” Sam asks, voice wavering a little. He's building up a good rhythm, smooth, pumping in an out of Dean like they've done it before. He's _good_ and Dean is a little proud. And turned on.

 

“Yeah, I think so,” he nods, adjusting the hold he has on his cock, using every move from his considerable experience to bring himself off.

 

Sam speeds up and it's like he's seen right into Dean's mind and picked up on what he himself didn't even know, because it's good, close as he is to orgasm he's really starting to get into it, getting fucked no longer an obstacle to coming, but something to push him over the edge. It's stupidly hot, getting his ass pounded by _Sam,_ weird and apparently sinful enough to kickslam an archangel, but hot nonetheless.

 

Sam kisses him again, off center, nose digging into Dean's cheek, but his lips are slick and he moans on the thrust forward, moans right into Dean's mouth and that's it, Dean gives his dick one last jack and he's coming, going taut under Sam, come splattering over them both. It's nothing but white noise in his head for a second and then something else registers, something between discomfort and relief, like something shaking loose inside him, not quite fully free, but getting there.

 

“Oh fuck, Dean, oh fuck,” Sam keeps repeating and where before he was all smooth, that surprisingly suave bastard, it's all gone now and he's just rutting in. Dean holds on, slack from his orgasm, keeping Sam close and riding it out until Sam stiffens and comes with a groan.

 

Dean thinks, if it wasn't for that odd feeling that he knows is from the spell, he could fall asleep like this, well fucked out and content.

 

That worries him. It's one thing to make it through world-saving sex with your brother, it's quite another to want to cuddle after and maybe go a second round after a nap.

 

“You good?” he asks, carding his fingers through Sam's hair.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, clearing his throat. It sounds a little thin. He withdraws carefully, sitting back on his heels and pulling his boxers back up, heedless of the mess. Then he hesitates, stroking the top of Dean's thigh lightly. “What about you? Not hurt?”

 

“I'm good. I think it's working, call them.”

 

Sam won't meet his eyes as he grabs the phone, but that's fine. Dean busies himself with locating his boxers, wincing as he stands up to pull them on. He's a mess and now that it's all over, he's feeling the aches.

 

“We're done. Come finish the spell,” Sam is saying into the phone and then they both stand there awkwardly, the sticky boxers doing nothing to conceal the sweat, smeared lube and god knows what else all over them.

 

The door opens carefully and Rowena and Cas come back in.

 

Not a lot of eye-contact is had.

 

Clearing his throat, Dean picks up the paper with the incantation, ready to get this over with. At the last second he looks up, finding Sam looking at him a little wistfully and on a whim, he palms Sam's cheek briefly, smiling.

 

Sam returns the smile without hesitation and Dean reads out loud.

 

* * *

 

The journey west is different the second time. Better.

 

The journey back home will have to wait a bit. There is, after all, a beach and enough sand to possibly put toes into if they felt so inclined.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [whiskeycherrypie.tumblr.com](https://whiskeycherrypie.tumblr.com), come say hi.


End file.
